


Are Stars Real

by Jenna_Nicole



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Needs Help, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Needs a Hug, Adrinette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Ladrien | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenna_Nicole/pseuds/Jenna_Nicole
Summary: He had once dreamt that he had been a superhero.He had called himself Chat Noir.He had been in love.He had been free to run the rooftops of Paris.Memories would trickle in of black butterflies, a friend named Plagg, and dazzling midnight eyes.It was a nice fantasy, wasn’t it? To be powerful. To be loved. To see the sky.It was too bad he had only dreamt of it.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth & Nathalie Sancoeur, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 21
Kudos: 92





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: psychological manipulation, emotional parental abuse, physical abuse, suicide mention. Say safe. Constructive criticism is welcomed. All of my knowledge comes from personal experience and other fiction.

“It’s time to wake up,” she said, pressing her hand to the side of his forehead. 

It felt cold but nice. Soft and delicate in contrast to the heat of the flames and the chaos of the sea of black butterflies that swarmed in his dream. He felt the words  _ not yet _ toss around in his brain, but he wasn't sure if he said them. He wasn't sure he said anything at all. 

He heard the switch of the light, and everything faded darker, more because of her missing touch than the missing lamp, but just as soon, he felt the weight of the mattress change and a warm body press against his back. 

For a moment, he sank into it, relaxing in her safety, free of the confines and walls of his prison. Free of the heatless eyes of his father. Free of all-consuming pain. Just free. 

And he believed it. 

“It was only a nightmare,” she said, brushing at his cheek with a warm thumb. “And the nightmare is over.” 

Her reassurance somehow planted doubt, and he shivered under the covers. It felt wrong and he shook his head, tossing and turning for a bit. “No,” he whispered, pushing himself even closer to her. “No, that’s a lie.” 

“Mon coeur, it isn’t. It’s over. You're safe. I have you. Hawk Moth is gone.” 

He allowed his eyes to flutter open so that he could see her, motionless and relaxed, pale under her mess of black bangs, strong and soft, all at once, holding him snug against her loose, blue tank top. 

“It was only a nightmare,” she said again, opening her bright eyes to meet his own.

He trembled, pulling her closer. “That’s what you always say.” 

She bit her lip, looking at him with confusion. “When?” 

“When you’re here,” he told her. “You always say that and then I wake up and I find out that this was a dream the whole time.” 

Placing a kiss on his forehead, she leaned in to whisper. “I’m real.” She kissed him again. “See.” 

He closed his eyes, still shivering. “I see.” 

“Do you feel it?” she asked, wrapping her hand around his cheek and brushing it down to his chin. She placed another kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I’m real. I’m here.” 

He leaned in, accepting her warmth again, gazing at the walls around them and the bedroom window. He felt resolve in his thoughts and he was sure it was her. There was no doubt. No doubt that she loved him and he loved her. 

But then, his eyes rose and he met the window, like an ugly mark on a perfect canvas, burning at his eyes, like a choir of laughter in his eardrums. There, behind Marinette’s blinds, he saw stars. And it was peculiar because he had never seen stars. Not anymore. Not again. If they even existed somewhere in his tangled memories. But still, despite the skyglow blotting out a clear view, he could see the twinkle peering down at him. 

And that’s how he knew he was dreaming. 

'

* .

* '

* *

He had once dreamt that he had been a superhero. 

He had called himself Chat Noir. 

He had been in love. 

He had been free to run the rooftops of Paris. 

Memories would trickle in of black butterflies, a friend named Plagg, and dazzling midnight eyes. 

He had met a princess on a balcony, where he would breathe summer air and sip lemony tea and stuff pastries into his coat pockets. He would sprawl out on her futon, face flat on a giant kitten pillow, listening to the princess hum as she sketched, glancing up at him from time to time to memorize his face. She was in and out a princess, brave and strong and brilliant and beautiful in every way. He had a habit of trying to memorize her too. 

When he wasn’t settling down his boiling blood in her kingdom of pink, he was chasing down magically transformed supervillains, destroying objects with his simple touch, one with the wind and his heart and his kwami. A girl in red, head to toe in spots, would stand beside him, fierce and wild, but tame with the covering of her stern gaze. She called him many names, like Chaton, and “silly kitty”, and “an overly dramatic flirt”. She would tease him and say he was living in an anime, convinced the real world was as simple and as complicated. And he loved her, and despite the tender roll of her eyes, he knew she loved him too. 

He loved them both until one day they became one, the princess and the lady, the hero on the balcony, and the princess on the battlefield. Ladybug would bring him warm cookies from the oven and Marinette would lecture him about his bout of recklessness. He would throw her compliments with that classic Agreste charm and fade into a shy boy beneath his dramatic cat eyes. 

It was a nice fantasy, wasn’t it? To be powerful. To be loved. To see the sky. 

It was too bad he had only dreamt of it. 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

The basement floor was cold on his cheek, but his heavy head yearned to keep it there, at least for a little while, up until Nathalie would arrive. His eyes drifted upward, to the tally marks on the wall, to the empty plate stained of gravy, to the blanket he had discarded in a fit of rage. He wanted to playback the memories as he did most mornings, rehearsing them with single-minded determination, clinging to them with the conviction that they must be more than just dreams. His father would be furious if he knew he still wondered, narrowing ice-cold slits of disappointment, beaming through Adrien like a splintered piece of wood. 

But yet he began to list things. 

Mother was gone. He was alone. Days passed to weeks. And then, a box. A box with a ring. A ring with a cat. A cat with a name. Plagg. Power. Destruction. Cataclysm. Freedom. A partner. Ladybug. Everything spiraled, days passed to weeks. He was happy. He was free. He was in love. He had her. She had him. And then...something. Something changed. 

He woke up, he supposed. 

What had his father said to him? What had he called it? Oh, _ the story you made up. _ The story he made up to cope. 

_ Right.  _

He took a deep breath, rolling onto his shoulder, feeling something clench deep inside his ribcage, poking, trying to pry its way out. And then, the room grew colder and Nathalie was looking down at him, as if he was pitiful, because he was, wearing the same face as she had the day before. 

“Good morning Adrien,” she said simply, with a soft edge that was an attempt at sympathy. “Please take your medicine today.” The way his voice faded to disappointment confirmed that she knew of his endeavors, to slide the tiny capsule under the rug, or to crush it to bits and discard it in his leftovers. This time, as she had the last few days, she stood to watch him, waiting for him to take the cup she offered and down the drug. 

He propped himself upward, on his elbows, sliding the cup toward him with an extended finger. His stomach turned at the feel of the object on his tongue, like bitter sickness flooding through his bloodstream. It was bad. He knew it was bad. Nathalie knew it was bad. But what choice did he have? 

He wouldn’t say anything about it. She wouldn’t answer him anyway. 

“Good.” She disappeared through the door as quickly as she had come, leaving him with his own breath and the tally marked walls. 

He tried to go over the things he could remember again. 

'

* .

* '

* *

He had been somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. His father had said “no.” His gut feeling had caused him to betray his father’s wishes. Something about doing it for the princess. Something about a weird feeling that had been in the back of his mind for quite some time. He ventured into the forbidden place. It felt right at the time. 

He could remember a flash of realization. A lift. A pathway that led to an object that made him sick. A swarm of fluttering insects. A gasp in his mind or an audible whisper. A shiver down his spine. A familiar voice. Him, the villain. Him, the monster. Him, swinging at the innocent child and the blood that trickled down the child’s cheek. A peal of laughter that made him ill. A painful grip on his wrist. A tug-a-war that he lost. A burning finger, devoid of a ring. Heaving, coughing, screaming for some light. The butterflies sounded like a thousand voices burning in his ears. And then, maybe, something...or nothing? Nothing. And then it ended. The dream ended. 

He had woken up cold and shaking, heavy on his own living room sofa with his father, looking over him with rare concern. Gabriel caught his eye, slipping over to his son and outstretching a protective arm around him. “Adrien, you’re awake,” he commented simply, monotone and all, but Adrien recognized this as his father’s rare slip of affection. 

Adrien tried to gather what had happened but he couldn’t remember much. Just glimpses and feelings, and the painful pull of the ring being forced from his hand. 

He quickly glanced down, eyes growing like saucers at the missing piece of jewelry. 

“Adrien, all of this has gone on long enough. I think it's time we had a discussion.” 

The bad feeling from his dream hadn’t left, but he gave his father his full attention. There was something about his tone that had changed and it filled Adrien’s heart with something he had been starved of for quite some time. Gabriel sounded so gentle like he truly cared, and Adrien was too weak to not fall for it. 

“I need to put an end to it,” he told him. 

Adrien shook his head, feeling exhausted as he rested his head on his father’s shoulder. His mind wasn’t caught up with his trembling mouth. “No, father. I love being Chat Noir.” 

Something in his father’s eyes shifted to something less kind, but it drifted away and he held his son closer. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about, son.” Deep concern washed through his features. “I’ve been so concerned for your safety, Adrien. Nathalie told me everything. You talking to yourself, the suicide attempts, and yesterday, when I came home, I found you unconscious in my office floor. I was afraid I had been too late.”

“Father,” he choked out, trying to repress the shaking. “Father, it isn’t true. I’m fine...I’m great even. None of that is true, I - I  ― ” 

“Shhh,” Gabriel said, reaching out to touch his son’s cheek. “You’ve been through a lot after your mother disappeared. I should have been there. I should have been there for you when you needed me. But the truth is, we both shut each other out, and while I was in my own solitude, you were in yours. I truly am sorry, Adrien.” 

And he meant that Adrien realized, tightening his own grip on his father. “I appreciate that, father. I do.” 

“But?” Gabriel asked, watching his son’s eyes focus. 

“Look, I’m not suicidal, okay. I didn’t jump off the roof, I jumped from it.” He sat up, steadying himself to appear more secure. “I’m a superhero!” 

Gabriel just stared at him blankly, accompanied by a dry, almost nervous, laugh. “Adrien, please be reasonable.” 

“And I wasn’t talking to myself, father! I was talking to my kwami.” 

Gabriel’s face morphed to a visible question mark, and it was evident. Surely, Gabriel must have at least heard of the heroes of Paris. Ladybug and Chat Noir. The akumas. The danger of emotions. “Adrien, I don’t know what that even ― ” 

Anger clouded Adrien’s funneling thoughts, causing him to grip his father’s arm with a fist. “You don’t leave the house often, Father. But you must remember. You were akumatized. Maybe a year back.” Adrien shifted his hand to where the ring was. “And I saved you with Ladybug, I had a ring ―” 

“I have never in my life seen you wear a ring.” 

“Okay, but Chat Noir, you know Chat Noir?” 

“I know what a cat is!” 

Something like dread stirred inside, but not quite dread. It felt much more like death. Like death had been let in to touch him. The reaper was there, behind his father, with a grin of Cheshire, and a mask of dark purple. 

Gabriel straightened, not stooping to the level of his son’s delusions. “Adrien, it’s time you knew the truth.” He was being held, Adrien realized, for the first time in a while, at least by his father. It had been years. Years he couldn’t even count on just one hand. And really, it felt wrong, but it was such a relief that he couldn’t help but let himself sink into his father’s rigid frame. 

“Okay,” Adrien said, letting his eyes drift closed. 

Gabriel looked over his son and shook his head sadly. “Adrien, you’ve been regressing since Emilie disappeared. You’ve gone back to talking to your imaginary friends like when you were small. You’ve hardly eaten, you’ve lost the color in your face. You’ve been trying to climb out your bedroom window, hurting yourself in the process. Screaming in your sleep about names like Hawkmoth and Ladybug. It’s quite terrifying. Nathalie told me. I came to see for myself and she wasn’t lying. I've spoken to professionals and they believe the same thing I believe, and I believe, perhaps you’ve created another story, as a way to cope.” 

“Another story?” Adrien whispered, blurrily sinking into his father. 

“Yes,” he told him, running a hand through his son's hair. “I know you’ll be reluctant to believe me, but I need you to try. It’s time to wake up, Adrien.” 

Adrien sighed, flickering his eyes open. “Wake up from what?” 

“The story you’ve made up.” 

Adrien’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t miss the kindness in his father’s eyes. It was so rare and so tangible, that Adrien couldn’t help but believe it. Not his claims, no, but Gabriel’s genuine concern. He had been Chat Noir, that Adrien knew, but he was quick to sink into his father’s affection, even if that meant pretending his father’s words made sense. 

“Please accept my help,” Gabriel pleaded, and Adrien couldn’t help but nod. “Good.” 

Maybe it was the sliver of doubt that was coursing through his brain that made him agree. Or maybe it was the longing to finally talk to someone about the things he was dealing with. Delusional or not, Adrien had assumed his father meant to get him therapy. Therapy that he wouldn’t have turned down if it had been offered many years ago. It would do him good, wouldn’t it? If that was what his father was promising. It had to be. 

He couldn't have been more wrong. 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

He had never been to school. 

He had begged and begged but his father hadn’t even looked in his direction. Just a cold “no” and a sigh. 

Adrien tried to defy him and lose his bodyguard. He had even made it through the door. But before he could utter a word to another person in his grade, he was being pulled backward, all the way down the steps and all the way through the open car door. His father had met him with the coldest greeting he had ever given his son before, and by the end of it, Adrien was honestly afraid to look him in the eye. 

Perhaps it was better to remain alone. 

So naturally, he would create imaginary friends. If he deserved any credit for his imagination, nobody could argue that he had been creative. To give himself a magical floating cat and a girlfriend in a ladybug outfit. An evil enemy with demon butterflies. A kindhearted girl to brush his tears away. He deserved softness too, he had decided. He hadn’t meant to make it all up. He hadn’t meant to lose his mind. 

Once his father had told him the truth, Adrien had taken a few moments to listen. But very quickly Adrien had snapped. He had torn his entire room to pieces searching for Plagg, for the ring, for his brain. The photo of Ladybug on his desktop was gone. The propped open window was closed. His Marinette lucky charm, his action figures, his heart-shaped valentine. All missing. Misplaced, he decided. He had been a delusional mess, sprawled out on the floor, being watched by his father. He had even considered running at the window, shattering it to pieces, so that he may plummet into the midnight air. Ladybug would catch him somehow. She always did. 

Gabriel had said, “See, you aren’t thinking straight. You’re trying to kill yourself.” 

He had broken the window but he was still standing in the room. The glass in his palm felt like nothing. He was waiting for the magical ladybugs to cover his bedroom and reverse time. They always did. She always did. She always fixed things. She would again. 

Two hours passed and he had a bandage around his hand. He was alone. 

Gabriel said, “I want to show you something in the basement.” 

Adrien remembered something important, then quickly forgot what it was. He wasn’t even sure what had happened. He was in the dark. Tight confines. Shaking like a leaf. His father had spoken to him in a low, kind voice. “It’s too colorful in the real world. It’s too much for your fragile brain to comprehend. In the darkness, in this colorless place, you will learn to remember what is real. This will fix you.” 

'

* .

* '

* *

He spent many weeks convinced his father had fooled him. He must have deemed it too dangerous for Adrien to be Chat Noir. He believed he was offering his son some sort of protection. It was better to believe that, Adrien decided. It was better than to believe his father was lying to him out of the bitterness of his heart. 

But he knew what his mind was telling him. The memories were clear. He was Adrien Agreste and he had been Chat Noir. He had fed his kwami camembert. He had been Ladybug’s partner. He loved her. She loved him. She loved the boy and the cat. He loved the girl and the lady. She would come for him. She was real. The delusion was not the superheroes, the delusion was the lie. The lie his father had told him. 

He argued with himself. 

He didn’t know what to believe. 

Until one day the answer became clear. 

Huddled in the corner of the cold, cement room, colorless and dull, lifeless in every way. He counted 121 tally marks. 4 months. Four months without the sky. Four months without the air. Four months with Ladybug’s kisses. Four months without the truth. The truth? 

And then the door slid open, and he saw her. His Lady. His Hero. The princess on the balcony that would offer him the warmth of her bed. The girl who could reverse his destructions with the words of her mouth. The girl who had loved him with and without the mask. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Ladybug. 

“It’s you,” he said, and his voice was faint. He sounded as if he had cried for ten years straight. 

“It’s me.” 

Her eyes dazzled. Her eyes exposed the long months of struggle. Long hours of tireless searching. 

Pain. 

Relief. 

Love.

“I knew you’d come.” 

“I knew I’d find you,” her eyes were watery. “Eventually.” 

She moved to meet him, tiptoeing over the cool cement, not shy as she reached to stroke the side of his cheek. “You’re bleeding.” 

He shrugged, wrapping his hand around the one that touched him. “I lost my temper.” 

She smirked. “Bad kitty.” 

He watched her, melting into the wall where his back leaned. His heart was bumping against his ribcage. He knew she had been real. 

“You’re real.” 

“Of course,” she said, searching his eyes, making circles under his eyes where she shamelessly shed tears. 

“You’re real.” 

“Yes.” 

He gasped, smiling despite the hurt in his heart. “You are. You are real.” 

She giggled. “Adrien, why wouldn’t I be?” 

He shook his head to himself, wondering the same. Wondering how he could fall for his father’s lies. His father didn’t love him. His father wasn’t looking out for him. His father was evil. He always had been. That’s why he was filled with fear at the sound of his voice. 

“Adrien,” she said, pulling him from his distractions. “Look at me.” 

He let her lift his chin, caressing his face with warm hands of red fabric. But not fabric. Not leather. Not anything the physical human could create. Only magic. Only Ladybug. 

“I’m looking.” 

“I love you.” 

Of course, she did. He had been silly. He had been silly to listen to his father. 

He couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He loved her. He wanted her. He brought himself toward her, shaky but certain, wrapping his arms around her body, tightly, moving to put his lips to hers. 

But then, just as he met to touch the warm lips of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, he met nothing but air. Cold, desperately empty, air. And all at once, he let himself slip to the cement, empty. His cheek would be bruised. His mind would go numb. He knew now that he was insane. He knew now that his father hadn’t lied. He was delusional. He always had been. 


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: psychological manipulation, emotional parental abuse, physical abuse, and brief suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> I appreciate everyone's feedback and interest. Thanks for reading!

The days stretched on as if years had passed, But the tally marks told him it was about two-hundred days. At least, two-hundred times that Nathalie had met him with breakfast and a paper cup with a pill inside. Two-hundred days of writing out his daydreams on graph paper, covering the floor around him with words written by a human with a broken mind. 

The tight space had been getting to him. Since the first day really, but now, more than ever. He felt as if the walls were growing smaller. Smaller each minute. He had been claustrophobic in his giant bedroom. Here, he could hardly breathe. But nobody came to check up on him when he would pass out on the cement, heaving and gasping and crying out. 

Above the tally marks, he would take the chalk that Nathalie had offered him and he would draw tiny dots, pretending they gave off starlight. It made the room feel a little bigger. A bit more open. A bit more like the balcony where he would hold tight to his princess. “Stars,” he whispered under his breath, offering a smile, as he drew a few more dots. 

On day two-hundred and twelve Adrien put a few dots on the ceiling, then pressed his back against the floor, peering up with a hopeless moan. “Maybe stars don’t exist at all.” He laughed. “Maybe I made that up too.” 

“Maybe.” 

He shivered, turning to find where the voice was coming from. But he knew now that it was his own head. He had a lot of conversations with himself these days. Now that Nathalie wouldn’t even look at him. She didn’t have to. She knew he’d take his medicine. He liked the medicine better now. It made him sleep. It made time stretch on less. 

  
  


'

* .

* '

* *

Chat Noir landed, pleased by the familiar scent. 

Not the scent of the bakery bellow or even the fresh cut flowers in his hands. Not the evening buzz or the cool mist of the rain from earlier. 

But _her_ , the princess, behind the window. 

Her scent was hard to put to words. But if he tried, it would be rose, and strawberry, candy apple, and home. She was paper and colored pencils, magic, and sweet sugar. The sway of her welcoming hand motioning him in made him tingle, as his ears subconsciously perked up and her scent scurried over him in waves. Call it cat-like habits, he just called it Marinette.

He dropped his mask as he dropped his body, avoiding the ladder and landing on her carpeted floor. She was already in her pajama shorts, sorting through her movies and rolling out blankets on the floor. 

“I brought you flowers.” 

“You always do.” 

She already had a vase and water waiting. 

“Can I stay?” He didn’t have to imply that he meant the night. This was his home. This was the only home he wanted. Her bed was his. Her room was his castle. 

“Why do you need to ask, mon amour?” 

He always asked. It seemed polite. 

She touched him and for some reason, he was shaking. It felt foreign even though it happened every day. “Je t’aime, sweet kitty.” 

He wanted to melt into her arms and never become solid again. 

“Would you marry me?” 

“Someday.” 

Plagg was groaning somewhere behind them. Tikki giggled. 

“The moment we’re old enough?” 

“The very moment.” 

He was tangled in her arms, just Adrien, holding onto her. She held just as tight. She never wanted to let him go. She never would. 

And then, as a shiver ran down his spine and he caught sight of the night sky, he made the mistake of asking. “Marinette?” 

She kissed him, soft and slow. She couldn’t stop. 

“Will you listen?” he asked. 

“I suppose,” she said, holding herself over him, strong on her steady arms. He didn’t want to ask the question anymore. 

“Which one is the dream?” 

She laughed. “Dream?” 

“Yeah, is this the dream?” 

Her eyes narrowed. “No.” 

“No?” 

“No.” She gave him another kiss to confirm her words. 

“You always say that.” 

“I always tell the truth.” 

Adrien shut his eyes. “You do. Of course, you do. How could my own fantasy break character?” 

She laughed again. “You’re talking nonsense. You know that, right?” 

“Perhaps I am.” 

She rolled off of him, curling up in his side instead. She rubbed soothing circles into his hand and brushed down the length of his arm with dozens of little kisses. He lost track of time for a while, letting himself sink into her sugary touch. “You’ve been having nightmares again," she commented, peering into his tired eyes. 

He shrugged. “Or daydreams.” Perhaps real life was the nightmare all along. 

“I’ll give you a nice daydream," she said, tangled around him in blankets, kissing him hard on the lips. 

It hit him that it was summer. It hadn’t felt like summer before. It had felt like an eternal winter. Perhaps he had been winter. She had been summer. A perfect balance. 

“Tell me this is real.” 

Her voice lowered and she was as soft as summer light in his ear. “We’re real.” 

And he believed her. He believed her for a long while. 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

It had been twenty-seven days since his father had visited. Last time he came he had put a hand on Adrien’s head and whispered many things into his ear. All Adrien could recall now were a few things. 

_ Be normal.  _

_ Stop.  _

_ Stop shaking.  _

Adrien tried to cling to the touch on his shoulder that felt gentle. It felt so gentle that it didn’t feel like his father. It made him think of Ladybug. It made him think of how deeply he hated himself for making her up. 

Now his father towered over him, eerie like a distant phantom. Thin and pale, like a ghost. The warmth of his father’s hand on his shoulder didn’t exist in the man’s eyes. Adrien was lost, but he understood one thing. His father did not love him. His father was not here because he loved him. 

“If you act normal you might see the light of day.” 

Adrien heaved. But he was relieved that he hadn’t made up the light. He hadn’t made up the day. 

_ Good.  _

“But I don’t expect much.” 

He wanted to stop shaking. He knew how his father loathed it. He knew it put deep darkness in his father’s eyes. 

“I want you to tell me about Ladybug.” 

Adrien wanted to scream in protest but instead, he whimpered. He felt hollowed out. He had nothing to give his father. Not concerning Ladybug. “What do you want to know?” he asked with a voice that did not sound like his own. 

“Who is she?” 

“Nobody.” 

“What name did you give her?” 

He laughed until his stomach hurt. His voice was distant, reminiscent. He didn't care that he was mumbled the words under his breath. “My Lady. My Princess. My Bugaboo” 

“Those are not names.” 

What felt wrong with his prying? What felt warped in his words? 

Why did he need to know this? 

Why did he want to? 

It was nothing. 

It was nothing at all. 

It was just a daydream. 

A delusion. 

His father never asked for these things. His father asked the opposite. Now it matted. Why would it matter? Why did anything in Adrien’s brain matter to his father? It hadn’t mattered before. 

A dangerous idea flickered in Adrien’s brain. An idea he didn’t want to provoke. 

“You want to mock me.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“It’s all you do.” 

Something sour passed across Gabriel’s face. He approached his son with a wickedly wry grin. “Is there something you wish to say to me?” 

_ I hate you _ , was all his mind said. And it hurt. It hurt so badly to hate the only person he had. But it was all he wanted to do. It was all he lived for these days. “No.” 

Gabriel coaxed him. Not with words or expressions. Not with anything. Just a long stare. A winning stare. A stare that made Adrien angry. 

“Are you certain?” 

All he felt for his father was hatred. Hatred made of fire and blackness and death. The same death that had watched him, with the purple mask and Cheshire grin. Maybe his father would deliver him to death. Maybe his father would give him one pill too many. Maybe he wouldn’t mind. 

Adrien opened the floodgates. 

“You don’t love me. You put me down here because you hate me so much that you wanted to see me less. Less than before, as if that’s even possible. You’re a monster. You’ve always been a monster, you ― ” 

_ Pain.  _

He hardly even reacted to the strike across his cheek. 

There was high pitched ringing and shock struck hands held up in defense. A licking, lurking sickness in his stomach. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t create words with his tongue. He was just still. 

But yet, after a moment of cold silence, he put his eyes on his father, big and imploring, watery and wide. Still, he whispered, “how could you, Father?” 

The dangerous idea flickered in Adrien’s mind again. It caught like wildfire. It caught in his blood and in his bones. “At least I was the hero,” he whispered, faintly, bracing himself for another strike. And then, with certain eyes, he put his father in his place, feeling for certain that he was right. “But you’re the villain.” 

'

* .

* '

* *

The bone bruised. The one that Gabriel hit. And then hit again. And again. 

Maybe it hadn’t even happened though. 

Gabriel had let him fall into his corpse of a body. Facedown on the cement floor. Damaging his perfect nose. Scraping at his chapped lips. Perfect model boy no longer. Hero of Paris no more. 

Adrien had cried like an idiot. 

Cried as his father walked away from him. 

Saying it out loud made it more real. That his father was a monster. Uttering it from his lips. The flicker in his father’s eyes. It was true, wasn’t it? If Ladybug was a story. And Chat Noir was a story. Hawk Moth would also be a story. Maybe deep down Adrien had always based Hawk Moth after his own father. 

He always knew he was as vile. 

Still, he cried. Shocked. Horrified. Unbelieving.

He was a child after all. 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

If he had been permitted to attend school he might have friends who would look for him. Who might wonder. Who might consider that perfect little rich boy was far from perfect and less than rich. That the rich and powerful could get away with anything if they were rich and powerful enough. 

He wondered if  Chloé might start to wonder. He saw her rarely, but she searched him out at award shows and charity galas. She would message him in hopes they could color coordinate. She would make demands, telling him what to wear, what to do, what to say. He would be her perfect little puppet and he was always too nice to stand up to her. Who would risk the loss of their one and only friend? 

He missed her. 

She would search for him, right? She would, of course, she would. 

Not unless Gabriel had fabricated a good lie. And of course, Gabriel had fabricated a good lie. 

What could it be? 

_ Adrien is just too ill to leave the house.  _

_ Adrien is studying abroad.  _

_ Adrien will be living with his relatives in England since Paris is no longer safe.  _

It was always the same deceptive little lie. 

_ Safety, I do this for your safety.  _

“Then save me!” he shouted into the empty walls. “At least try.” 

If he had been permitted to attend school he would have had Chloe. He would have had other students, teachers, and a principal. People who might wonder why he might suddenly disappear. The lie would be good and they would accept it, but if he grew close to someone. Found a best friend. Found a girl as sweet and beautiful and loving as Marinette. Had people who would invite him over. Had people he would want to invite over too. 

Maybe those people would look deeper. Maybe those people would understand, from the accounts he had told them, that his father was more than what meets the eye. 

If Marinette was real she would do something. 

She would do anything, everything, in her power to find him. 

A tiny flame of desperation licked at his bones. He allowed himself to hope for a moment that she truly was out there looking for him. 

'

* .

* '

* *

That night, he dreamt that Agreste Mansion burned down. 

That dreadful portrait in the entry, that long and lifeless dining room table, Father’s books, Adrien’s games, lovely and lavish apparel, priceless in the eyes of Gabriel. All of it, along with Emilie’s old boxes of fine possessions. The heirlooms passed down through generations. China and the silverware. 

Consumed, utterly, by walls and arching spiderwebs of licking flame. 

And Adrien, alone in the city streets, holding a matchbox and a blistery hot ring. Hair black with soot. Lungs sore from the smoke. Hands burned from the metal knobs on the doors. 

Plagg popped his head from his pocket, arching glowing eyes into the dark street, usual snark far from his face. He just nudged at Adrien’s side, saying, “you did good.” 

He could still see the mansion. Everyone could. The watchful pedestrians taking video and pointing didn’t see him slip by. They didn’t see his leaky eyes or the cut across his forehead. They didn’t see the tremble in his step or the hitch in his breath as his burnt fingers shifted. 

“Go on,” Plagg said. “You know the way.” 

And he knew the way. 

He slipped into a quiet corner behind a flower shop, resting his back against the brick for a moment, swallowing as the words slipped through his teeth. Then in a flash of green, he was covered, head to toe, wrapped in strength. Chat Noir, a hero of Paris, loved and adored by the Princess in the tower. 

He made his way to her. 

His mind didn’t need to speak to him. 

It was muscle memory. 

And then he was there, leaning heavily against her window, pushing hard breaths through his nose. 

She stood in the frame, her features soft and tender. Her Jagged Stone t-shirt riding up as she jumped to meet him, leaning into him, not bothered by the smoke in his mouth and his lungs. Not perplexed by the black on his clothes and the blood on his face. 

She kissed him, stroking the cut skin with her thumb. Pulling him in through the door and into the safe confines of her bedroom. She was already wrapping his fingers with a cloth. 

“I thought I was losing my mind,” she said, holding him tight as he swayed. “The entire world was acting like you never existed. Chat Noir. Adrien Agreste. All sides. I thought maybe I made you up.” 

He had no shock that the world forgot him, but he ached at the thought of being forgotten by her. 

“But I knew it was a lie. And then I knew for sure when I saw the smoke.” 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

Gabriel went to his vault, seething in rage. The real, tangible blood on his hands made him determined, proud, and even powerful. In heart, he was proud to be the monster that had broken his son, even if he would deny it to anyone. He _was_ a good father. Oftentimes he even believed he was a good father. Adrien just wasn’t strong enough to understand the grand plan. 

He excused his actions because he didn’t see Adrien anymore. That  _ thing _ was not his son. That thing was Chat Noir and it had tainted the shadow of his bright eyes. Tainting the eyes of Emilie. Adrien was no more and that was okay. All Gabriel wished for was to have Emilie. 

The vault opened and he let his shoulders relax. The sight of that silver ring brought relief to the tense muscles of his scowl, and hope to the coming day when he may win. He knew Adrien would break eventually. It would be easy. All he needed was a name. And Adrien had a name, he knew that. 

But still, he had no reservations against sending Ladybug hell in the meantime. 

He shot a message to his ever-loyal Volpina. 

She had done good work with Adrien several months back with her Ladybug illusion. 

She would do good work with the real Ladybug as well. 

He clutched at the ring, feeling purpose drive him. “Okay, Ladybug. You’re next.” 


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: psychological manipulation, emotional parental abuse, physical abuse, and brief suicidal thoughts.

Nathalie knew well of the fiery flame that was Gabriel’s temper. It would be quiet, for many long days or even weeks, and then suddenly, he was venomous, spewing shadows, setting flames at random. He didn’t care if his akumas burned the whole city down. He hardly even cared about the goal. It was tragic, really, to see Gabriel, whom she loved, fall more deeply in love with the power than his ambition to save his wife. After what happened to Adrien, there was no going back. The Gabriel that Nathalie met, the Gabriel that Nathalie loved, was gone. 

But still, she stood beside him, trying not to feel the pounding of her racing, guilt-ridden heart. 

He was at his desk, hands collapsed together, eyes trained on the screen in front of him. She knew without a doubt that he was not working on the _Gabriel_ brand. She didn’t need to look at his nonsensical mess of a notebook to see that he was trying yet again to further decipher the grimoire. 

His eyes flickered upward for a moment, like a streak behind his glasses. It was enough to urge her on. 

“She wasn’t there again. Today it was Queen Bee and Carapace,” Nathalie informed him, hands collapsed around her clipboard. 

“She must know I have the ring. She’s being cautious.” 

“Volpina’s illusions have worn her thin. She won’t follow them anymore.” 

Despite his frustration, today it was controlled. His clenched fist was enough to keep it at bay. “She’s finally giving up hope.” 

'

* .

* '

* *

Someone was coming, he realized. He could feel the movement under the floor. Or he could hear it. Everything came in echoes. Ripples. In his pulse. In his pounding head. 

“Shut up,” he said to the floor. The floor shrieked back at him. “I said, shut up!” 

The footsteps continued. Adrien sank into the corner, pleading that it be Ladybug. And if not Ladybug, then Nathalie. 

Not him. Not him. Not him. 

He glanced at the tally marks. It seemed too soon. But then, he had lost count. He had lost the motivation to keep track. His guess would be roughly two-hundred-fifty days now. It didn’t matter though. Gabriel didn’t have a reason to keep tradition. He would come when he would come. And he would have his way. 

“Adrien,” he came forward. His eyes felt like daggers, weighty, and demanding on Adrien’s turned cheek. He must have been amused by how weak his son looked. Celebratory in his defeat. Just skin on bone. Dark, deep shadows under his eyes. A lost, sickly young boy in the clutches of a monster. But yet, despite the previous violence, Gabriel’s voice was quiet. “Who were you talking to?” 

Adrien’s ears were ringing as if to mute out Gabriel’s words as if his nervous defense was there to protect him. He was unconsciously backing himself into the corner, averting his eyes away from his father. 

“Adrien, I thought you would be better by now.” 

“Liar,” Adrien forced out, swallowing on an empty throat. 

Gabriel’s response was silence, as he came to the side of where Adrien was curled tight. He was still, not moving to his son’s level, but stretching a hand to brush the side of his cheek. “The bruise is healing.” 

“That’s not what hurts,” came out his voice, choked and faint. His entire body shuddered at the flick of Gabriel’s eyes, cold and demeaning. 

“I would think not.” 

Adrien looked to the cement, drawing circles with his thumb, much like Marinette used to in the palm of his hand. It was a good distraction to keep him focused. To keep his shaking hands steady. 

Any kindness still in Gabriel’s voice vanished. His frustration was alive in his tone. “Stop shaking.” 

“No.” 

Adrien’s hands stilled despite his comment, as he sank deep into the coldness of the floor. There was a stillness of silence that lagged on where Gabriel just froze, silently taking in the sight before him. 

It was strange. Suddenly, Gabriel seemed to sigh, like he was defeated. “I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. "I'm sorry that I hurt you." 

Adrien decided that he heard him wrong. 

“You look sick.” 

“I am.” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said it again. “I’m so sorry.” 

Adrien continued drawing circles in the cement. He wouldn’t fall for it. He wouldn’t believe his father was ever sorry about anything. “Why did you akumatize those people?” 

Gabriel didn’t answer. He just looked away as he made his way closer to Adrien, crouching down on the floor so that he was at his son’s level. The same way he might have years back to play with him when he was little. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Gabriel said, overextending his voice to sound soft, but Adrien couldn't miss the venom in his tone. 

“You _have_ to.” 

Gabriel’s eyes barely flickered, and then his voice turned to steel. “Listen to me.” 

Adrien didn’t want to, but he was sure he didn’t have a choice. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” came Gabriel’s fragile promise, with the intended aim of violence at his son’s aching head. 

Adrien let his eyes fall shut, too tired to fight the words. It was time to listen to his father lie to him again.

“I thought it would be best to let you see it on your own that the superheroes, Hawk Moth, Ladybug, all of it, is all pretend. I thought you would come to terms with the truth. But you’re still doing it. Talking to yourself. Hurting yourself. You’re getting worse.” Adrien couldn’t look at him. He was too good an actor. He could feel the “sincerity” in his father’s eyes on him despite Adrien's turned down head. “So I thought I could get you talking about it. I could point out the inaccuracies and explain it to you. Maybe you’d see it.” 

“So you ask about Ladybug?” 

“It’s who you talk about the most.” 

Adrien’s eyes were hot with fury, suddenly feeling protective over the girl in his imagination. “You wanted her name.” 

“Where else was I supposed to start?” 

The need to protect her didn't fade as he stared directly into his father, jaw tight with fervor. Vicious words made him up, much like they did his father, but his words were used to protect, and Gabriel's were used to destroy. He spoke, and for a moment, he felt strong. Ladybug had always created bravery in his chest to be that way. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t care. And if you do care, it’s not for the right reasons.” 

Adrien took the risk to glimpse him. He looked frail. Vulnerable, even. It was stupid. 

“Let me start over,” Gabriel said, with a small attempt to lower his voice. 

Adrien’s jaw still hurt from the place where Gabriel had hit him. 

And he was stupid. 

He wanted his father to hold him. 

Like he had when Adrien was small. 

He wanted to say “I forgive you.” 

And he might have if his father's motives weren’t clear. 

If he wasn’t going after Ladybug.

But Adrien knew without a doubt that he was. 

Fantasy or not, Gabriel would not touch her. 

“You’re wasting your time," Adrien said, trembling lip turned away. 

“Am I?” 

“I won’t tell you a damn thing.” 

Gabriel was quiet then for a while, for a long while. So quiet that the room felt alive almost. The one lightbulb in the room was buzzing. The floor felt unsteady. The arms that Adrien had to defend himself sprouted with goosebumps and his stomach was roaring with sickness. It was like they were out at sea, rocking back and forth, waiting for a storm to come and crash over them. 

He felt the chill of the wind warning. 

But he still was not prepared for the crack of the thunder. 

Gabriel lunged at him, suddenly and violently, like a great white shark clamping at its prey. It felt slow but he couldn’t stop it. He was colliding with the cement of the wall, back, neck, and head screaming inside of him, legs and hands flailing, breath lost in the swirling shrieks in his inner alarm system. Maybe he was having a heart attack. Maybe he was dying. 

“I’m trying to help you, so let me!” Gabriel growled like a rabid animal. He was breathing heavily, holding a fist around Adrien’s thin shoulder, aching and bruising it under the hold. His eyes stung at Adrien’s eyes, showing him the hatred of Hawk Moth as pure as ever. 

“You don’t want to help me,” Adrien choked, feeling pressure on his neck as he tried to stretch it away from him. “You only want to help yourself.” 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

The pattering rain was causing somersaults to twist around in her stomach. They reminded her of the pattering footsteps of a certain feline, knocking on her roof. Wide-eyed brilliance, cocky politeness, soft and delicate touches in the confines of her room. Her Chat Noir. Her Adrien. Like a phantom in the night time rain. 

“Where are you now?” she whispered, rising from her seat and peering out at the gray window. “I will find you, Mon Minou.” 

Tikki touched down beside her, resting on her shoulder. “He’s out there, Marinette. You’ll find him.” 

Marinette sank into the window frame, peering out at the stormy night with defeat. “And what if I don’t. I’ve been trying for months.” 

Tikki took a moment, but pushed herself to say, “you will.”

But Marinette couldn't entertain Tikki's optimism right now. “What if Hawk Moth has him? What if he’s hurt? What if―” She couldn’t push herself to say the words. It was a harsh reality that she couldn’t put on herself just yet.

Tikki didn’t ask. She didn’t have to. “You shouldn’t give up.” 

She wasn’t sure she was physically capable of giving up. But yet, she felt exhausted. She had looked everywhere. Everywhere her mind could think of. Every old spot. Every place they had never been. 

She was too young for this. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t normal. She was fifteen. Fifteen-year-olds weren’t supposed to have to deal with these things. Fifteen-year-olds weren’t supposed to cry themselves to sleep at night. 

Her friends were confused. Her parents were worried. Her kwami hovered over her like a guardian angel. 

She had seen the concerned and weirded out stares of pedestrians, back that one dreary night when she was slamming her hands on the doors of the animal shelters, asking them if they had gotten any new black cats, sobbing as she sank to the sidewalk. For some reason, one had given her sympathy and she had carried home a tiny black kitten that she named Plagg, rightly so. She couldn't allow herself to call him Adrien. If her parents weren’t so worried they might have been mad but it had been several weeks and they hadn’t even said anything. 

She had a restraining order filed against her by Gabriel Agreste. It seemed he wasn't fond of having his door kicked in. Or having his entire house searched. Or having accusations thrown at him with no evidence. He didn’t understand that she had evidence. Neither did the police. Gabriel was friends with Bourgeois and Bourgeois had control over the justice system. Some people were losing their faith in Ladybug altogether. And that included Marinette. 

At least it was only Ladybug that had the restraining order.

Marinette was still free to approach Agreste Mansion. 

“Once this is all over the people will see that Ladybug was right.” Tikki had promised. Marinette had hoped. 

“I’m going to go there as Marinette.” 

“If you go there looking for Adrien, he could figure out that you’re Ladybug. Adrien doesn’t have other friends.” 

Marinette sighed, sinking into her desk chair. Mind traveling back to the things he had told her. The little details about his childhood and the life he had lived. “Yeah, well, he does have one.” 

Tikki perked up, hovering in front of her. “Who?” 

Marinette rolled her eyes, smirking at the thought. She never thought she'd utter such words. “I think I need to talk to Chloé Bourgeois.”

'

* .

* '

* *

Over and over he reached out, trying to breathe steady, trying to uncurl from the bloody and broken ball that he was, motionless in the corner, trying to find light in the shadows. 

The door swung open suddenly and there was Ladybug, strong, and powerful. She was blurry. One of his eyes was forced shut. He was certain his ribs were broken. 

She came silent, sitting down beside him and taking his hand. He managed a few words. “I won’t fall for it. I know you aren’t the real Ladybug. You’re just in my head.” 

“Is that so bad?” she asked, squeezing his hand lightly. “That way I’ll never leave you.”

He sighed, too tired to protest, pulling his body toward her and that time there was something for him to touch. He put his head on her lap. “Thank you.”


	4. FOUR

Ladybug had been good to him, whether she be an illusion or a reality. It was funny to him that those things hardly mattered much anymore. Whether Ladybug was real or his own creation. Whether Chat Noir was a role he made up to cope or a memory locked up deep inside. He didn’t care anymore if he was believing a lie. The truth hurt too deeply. The lie was like a balm upon his soul. Just her face. Her face was enough to fool him. 

A few days had passed since his father had seen him last. Adrien was still weak and sick and in pain, but Ladybug was there, and she was there to soothe him. For many hours she would simply stroke his cheek and run her fingers through his hair, kissing him softly in the places that hurt, and telling him that she wouldn’t leave him. She did not pressure him to remember his memories. But very delicately, she would encourage him to try. 

“I know it hurts,” she said, lying down beside him, pushing his long, overgrown bangs out of his eyes. “But you need to remember eventually. You need to remember what happened to you that night.” 

He didn’t want to. Every time he tried to remember that night, his mind would turn against him, shrieking in searing pain, swarming with black insects, making him dizzy and sick to his stomach. Sometimes flashes would wake him up in the dead parts of the night and he would pace, or he used to when he was stronger, but now he would just curl up his knees to his chest and breath heavily, trying to piece it together while also desperately trying to rid the alarming images from his mind. 

Ladybug used to call him her “Disney princess.” It brought him back to summer afternoons in a less than stark living room, bright with art and plants and colorful pottery. His mother would stroke his hair when he was afraid, much like his imaginary Ladybug would, softly combing through his hair while humming to the Disney movies in the background. She sat looking at him ever so often with that brilliant smile of hers. It was the same one that stretched across his own face. It seemed pleasant in memory, that strong grip she had always had. Tight and possessive. He never turned her away once. He never wanted to. He was happy to be wanted. 

Now all he had were the movies, and the songs, and stories. 

Every locked up heroin, becoming a story that was more and more about him. 

"Remember calling me that? Your little Disney princess." 

She laughed to herself, eyes shifting to the door. "Of course." 

"I do...I do feel like Rapunzel. Or Cinderella, really." 

“How did every story end?” Ladybug asked him, lifting a smile from the lightless corner. 

“Fairytales are just fairytales.” Adrien spit out the sour medicine into a napkin, eyes growing blurry at the tilt of the room. “You’re a fairytale.” 

She ignored his remarks and focused on his folded up napkin. “It’s brave of you to stop the pills.” 

He shrugged. “I want to see the difference. I want to see what they do.” 

He had given up on the tally marks. He had given up on the specks of artificial stars. Mostly because his chalk had run out. The little chunk left was destroyed by a spilled glass of water. He had tried but had failed to hold the glass steady. 

“I might go away,” Ladybug warned, tugging on his palm. 

Something inside him twisted at the thought, but still, he crushed the pill under his glass of water. Nathalie had become trusting enough to leave him to himself. It would be wise to take advantage of it. “The pills were supposed to make you go away.” 

She snorted. “Says Hawk Moth.” 

“If he _is_ Hawk Moth.” 

He had become indecisive. One day he would be convinced to believe in the fairytales that were Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Hawk Moth. Other days, he would lie himself down on the floor and shake for hours, hating himself for being so gullible. Maybe the lack of pills would clear his mind. Or maybe his mind was broken for good. 

This Ladybug seemed real, but Ladybug wouldn't keep him locked up. Ladybug wouldn't be so relaxed. Ladybug wouldn't hide her face from him. Deep down he knew she was a lie, but he had learned to accept that his brain was lying to him. All the time. And sometimes the lies were good. 

But then, if this one was fake, what made the other Ladybug real? 

“Does my neck look broken?” he asked after a while. 

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be able to move it as you do.” 

He shrugged. “I’m not dead.” 

“No.” 

“I’m not sure what Hawk Moth is waiting for then.” 

She looked through him like he was invisible. Like the skin around his body was invisible. “It’s simple.” 

Nothing felt simple. 

“You still haven’t told him my name." 

There was a distinct, almost eerie look of disappointment on her face. 

'

* .

* '

* *

She felt like an intruder at Le Grand Paris, sneaking softly onto the balcony, tiptoeing to the terrace where Chloé was lounging. 

Her eyes were covered by golden sunglasses and Chloé gave her little more than a ponytail to look at. But still, she must have seen the flash of red in the corner of her eye. She was more observant than people would give her credit for. "Daddy says you're the enemy now," she said curtly, sipping a champagne glass of lemonade. 

"What do _you_ think?" 

She slid her glass onto the table, shifting her body to face Ladybug, looking tired in a way Chloé had never looked tired, at least for Marinette. She slid her phone across the table so that Ladybug could see. 

Message after message. Maybe hundreds. All to one person. All to no avail. All with no response. The person was Adrien Agreste. 

"Why did you break into Agreste Mansion?" She asked and her eyes were cold as ice. "Did you take him?" 

"Take him?" Ladybug asked, incredulous shock in her voice. "Chloé, no, I…I was trying to find him." 

"Where is he? I don't believe the boarding school story." 

"I don't know," Ladybug sighed. "I think Hawk Moth has him." 

Chloé was deadly silent in front of her, expression thoughtful as she turned away, eyes open with worry. It was strange to see Chloé so worn thin, uneasy, unfocused on her own petty needs. But Chloé’s entire persona dropped into a raw, unglamorous, human being. 

"I think Gabriel Agreste might be Hawk Moth," Ladybug told her, hesitantly reaching to touch Chloé's shoulder. "You know him better. Is it possible?" 

“You believe that Gabriel Agreste is Hawk Moth?” Chloé asked quickly, taking in a deep breath. 

“I think so.” 

A ping was heard, coming from Ladybug's yoyo. She stood in silence while Ladybug read the message aloud.

_Nino and I followed the Akuma. You were right. It led straight back to Agreste mansion. What now?_

Chloé looked down, with clear disappointment in her eyes, but not quite shock. Her voice came out harsh and thin. “What do you want with Adrien anyway?” 

Ladybug looked away, putting her back to Chloé. At one time, it would have been a sin in her mind to utter such words. To expose them in this way. But that time had passed. All that mattered now was bringing Adrien home. "I love him," she said first, voice shaky, and then she said, "He’s Chat Noir, Chloé.” 

She turned back to face her again, only to find Chloé with tears in her eyes. Any hostility in her body vanished, and with a sad sigh, she motioned for Ladybug to follow her inside. 

Sitting together on her bed, Chloe brought up Gabriel again. “I don’t trust him, I haven’t for a long time.” she squeezed her eyes shut tight, clearly pained by the realization. “Adrien and I didn't have a lot of personal conversations about these things. I never made myself available like that. But Gabriel could be so harsh at times. Especially these last few years. Especially after Emilie disappeared. I wouldn’t have believed you a few years ago. Like you, and like the rest of this city, I used to idolize him like a goddamn saint. But I don't know. I do notice things. Adrien just wasn't the kind of person to talk about it, at least with me. He never wanted to be pitied." 

"I know," Ladybug said. "He would always change the subject and say that _I_ was his family." 

Chloé nodded, eyes watery. "I'm sorry," Chloé said, brushing away a tear. Her hair was down now. Marinette had never seen Chloé with her hair down. Ladybug just nodded, eyes wide as if she was watching a ghost. "I…I have a soft spot for Adrien." 

Ladybug looked down at the messages again, then glanced at Chloé's defeated expression. "It's him," she said quietly. "We need the whole team. We need to make a plan." 

Chloé looked up, eyes wide with sudden fury. “I say let's storm the castle.” 

Ladybug reached through her yoyo for that wooden box, presenting Chloé with the bee Miraculous. Chloé beamed. "Meet me at the Couffaine boathouse, okay?" 

Chloé nodded, placing the comb in her hair. "I'll see what I can do about Daddy. But you know him. He doesn't budge easily when there's money involved." 

"Thank you, Chloé." Ladybug nodded in appreciation, extending her yoyo to carry her to Tsurugi Estate. Kagami would be waiting patiently on her terrace. 

“Let’s raise hell,” Chloé said, turning to her kwami. 

"That sounds perfect, my queen." 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

"What do you remember, Adrien?" 

She didn't need to clarify what she was speaking of. It was the beauty of a friend of his own creation. He never needed to guess her motive. He never needed to beg her to expand. She was quiet and she had Ladybug's face. That's all he needed. 

He let himself try to do as she asked. To remember the night that he lost his Miraculous. 

To remember the night he lost Chat Noir. 

Plagg. 

Ladybug. 

He could remember his father's kind eyes. 

It, as it always did, hurt his head to try. That memory was hidden somehow. Either he dreamt it or he forgot about it. It felt like either possibility was on purpose. 

He breathed. 

His father had made him uneasy. He seemed untamed. Out of control. Adrien dared to pull on that thread. 

It was as if he was sleepwalking. Adrien in his own right mind wouldn’t have been so reckless. Transforming in the hallway. Creeping into the office. Taking notes. Listening in. Bugging Nathalie in more ways than one. 

The grimoire, so out of place. His mother’s shining complexion. The peacock brooch, familiar and shining, once pinned to his mother’s blazer, poking through her shirt and into his cold realization. Something off. Something so off that he was messing with the painting. 

“I think I knew it somehow. From the very start. I knew it.” Ladybug sat beside him now, curling her legs to her chest, touching his sore arms with her cold fingers. “My father and Hawk Moth being the same, it wasn’t shocking.” 

“It should have been.” 

“But it wasn’t.” 

How had he stepped onto that lift? Downward, he went to a place that hadn’t existed before. At least, he hadn’t thought it did. The basement had been full of storage. A single floor of boxes, old furniture, priceless objects, heirlooms his father wouldn’t show him, old sketchbooks, hung ball gowns, photographs…

One floor, two floor, three floor, it went on and on, on and on until he went dizzy. 

A sharp inhale. 

Something was wrong. 

Very, very wrong. 

A cold chill passed through him as the lift came to a halt. He emerged into a garden. Shadowy figures, fluttering pale wings, watchful eyes, obvious as a cold breath on the back of his neck. 

There was a corpse.

The coldness of her body was contagious. He was frozen, heart struck still, claws outstretched. 

Even now, in his little cage, he felt the cold touch his skin. He trembled. 

“Careful,” Ladybug said, pressing a hand to his knee. “Take it slow. Not all at once.” 

“Alright.” He hadn’t realized his jaw refused to remain still. He hadn’t realized he was still afraid. 

“You’re not down there in that room. You are here, with me.”

He had to believe her. He _had_ to. “With you.”

She was patient, taking her time to trace the edge of his arm, soothing him with a long sigh of pleasure. “Tell me how you got hurt.” 

“I got hurt,” he said, but he didn’t sound certain. “I did?” 

“Yes, you got knocked out. You know this. Why did it happen?” 

He could remember. A voice had been behind him, familiar like the skin on his back. Clever and cruel, harsh as the wind of his breath. _Why are you here?_

 _Hawk Moth_. The name rolled off his tongue like gravel. Hawk Moth was in his home. Beneath his house. Close to him. 

_I’m sorry,_ he said, eyes shifting to follow the frigid noise. 

_You shouldn’t have come here,_ it said _._

He had to know. He had to know what made him uneasy. This must have been it.

He knew him. Hawk Moth. He knew him. 

“How did you get hurt, Adrien?” Ladybug asked again, seeing that he was lost. 

And then it came back and he was in pain. Hurt, hurt everywhere. His cheek, his neck, his back, his head. He arched backward, gritting his teeth as he slumped into it. Down the length of the wall, down, down, until he was lying on the cold floor. 

_Well, Adrien, since you’re here, I have a confession. I’ve always wanted to tell you. I wanted to be sure you would understand me._

“I transformed when I saw mother," Adrien told Ladybug, wincing at the memory, trying to remember how he had gotten from point A to B, from Hawk Moth's confession to the corpse in the garden. 

“And then?" 

He sat up straight, tapping his foot in frustration. “I don’t know.” 

_I’ve told you everything. Do you not wish to save your mother?_

He could remember her, Emilie, most of the time. It hadn’t been too long ago when she had disappeared from his life. But still, he feared he might forget her. He could feel fragments of his memory vanishing all the time. 

“He wanted me to side with him," Adrien finally said, hands tight around his knees. 

“So why didn’t you?” she asked, casual, as if the question concerned the weather. As if it wasn't a choice between Ladybug and his own father. 

Adrien could remember now, the desperation in Hawk Moth’s eyes. The pressure in which Hawk Moth towered over him. The searing pain where his stomach hit and then where his head spun madly. 

“I did.” 

Adrien had turned the ring in a circle. Once. Twice. Then he handed it over like it was nothing. 

He had chosen Hawk Moth. He had chosen Hawk Moth over Ladybug. 

What a sick person he was. 

He could feel Plagg’s protest as it was carried away from him. 

_Now the earrings_ spoke the devil. 

“It was my mistake," he whispered, arms tight around his own body, guilt-ridden horror shaking through his bones. 

He could remember now, in his thoughts, Ladybug’s big eyes. Her warnings. The price of the wish. The sickness in his thoughts as he considered betraying her. He had felt dizzy, standing there in the garden, butterflies circling around his ankles. Gabriel talking. Gabriel, with the mask of Hawk Moth. He moved in close and Adrien pulled away, repelled by the coldness in his eyes. Repelled by the cold reality as the room shook around him. He felt faint, as he stumbled backward, muttering silence. 

“No,” Adrien said, shivering at the memory. “I told him no.” 

Perhaps he was cruel enough to give up Plagg. Cruel enough to deprive Ladybug of himself. But not cruel enough to betray _her_. He couldn't bring himself to imagine a world where he took her earrings. 

“He didn’t like that much, did he?” 

Adrien could remember now. The way he had struck at him with his cane, creating a permanent psychosomatic bruise deep in his stomach, sending him backward into the wall of the room. He had cried out, calling to Plagg but getting no answer, arms up in defense, lip quivering in panic. His brain fought to remember it. His body protested memory. But he could remember now, the way Gabriel had torn at his arm, the way he had stumbled backward, eyes wide in disbelief, heart hammering as pain radiating through his body. The sea of butterflies swarming around him making the room spin. And then, Gabriel lunging at him, cane arched, the entire weight coming down at once, and then, a collision, with a wall behind him, and his head, crashing hard into it...

There was a moment where he looked up to see his father moving toward him, and then, the world spun to black. 

Adrien was sitting beside Ladybug now, gripping his head and breathing heavily. He leaned over heaving and shaking, trying to keep the bile from spilling out. “Ladybug, oh god.” 

“What is it?” she said, gripping his hand tighter. Maddening possession big in the way her fingers clenched. 

“I couldn’t remember and he took advantage of that.” 

Her hand stilled. “Explain.” 

“When I hit my head. I must have woken up not remembering what happened. He used that. He used that and he’s been trying to convince me that I made it all up. But no, he's the liar. He's the crazy one." 

“Maybe," she said, looking away from him. 

“But it was a lie because the only thing wrong with my brain was _him_ . What he did to me when I got hurt. When _he_ hurt me.” 

She sighed. “He was angry.” 

“Yeah, and he thinks he’ll get me to slip up. Tell him about Ladybug in my fragile state. He thinks I’ve lost it.” 

“It’s actually quite brilliant,” she mused, with a smile that made him uneasy. Her grip on his hand tightened. Her touch felt like an insect crawling about under this skin. She felt colder now. 

“Maybe it is, but listen, I remember!" he said, and a smile emerged on his face despite his shaking. A broad, relief-filled smile that made the eyes of his companion narrow. “I remember. Which means I’m not crazy and he’s just evil. Ladybug will come for me.” 

“She won’t come for you," she said, sharp-tongued. 

“She’s out there.” 

“No, she won’t," she said, grip tighter. "I’m the only Ladybug you’ll ever see.”

There was a long silence. And then Ladybug sighed. 

“You should have given him the earrings.” 

“What?” 

“He had a right to be angry. You were letting his wife, _your_ mom, die.” 

Adrien felt coldness leak into the room. 

"I thought if I helped you remember your mother, you would understand. You would understand why you need to give me...Ladybug up!" 

"No," he said, shaking his head, shivering. "That doesn't make sense." 

“I think what you did was selfish.” 

“Selfish?” he asked, gasping in disbelief. “I did it for you. I did it because I know you. I took that...all of that hell, all of _this_ because I _love_ you. Because I _trust_ you. Because I knew that if you were there, you would convince me to stop. And now you, you take _his_ side! You take his side because you aren’t even Ladybug, you aren’t her, you could never be…you’re just an illusion.” He was rocking back and forth, punched hard in the gut, betrayed yet again by his own gullibility. “You’re Volpina, aren’t you?” 

She narrowed her eyes, and there was a weird glint that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it had always been there, but he had chosen to overlook it. Any strength that was in his body vanished and he turned away from her. “Get out.” 

“I just wanted to keep you company,” she said, sounding innocent, batting big, bug-like eyes in his rearview gaze. “I’m in your mind, Adrien. If you want me to leave, just make me.” 

He was tight in the corner not looking at her. “Get out!” 

He could see the puff of smoke as she vanished through the doorway, and Ladybug was gone. 

'

* .

* '

* *

"I really am sorry, Gabriel. Adrien found me out. I just wanted to help you." If Gabriel hadn't chosen Lila for her excellence in manipulation, he would have fallen for her cavity-inducing, wide-eyed apology. But her satin words felt like cobblestone. 

"You were supposed to make him feel guilty about Emilie, not remind him of what I did." 

"I know, I am sorry." The girl's eyes were downcast, two angry slits of color beaming into the floorboards. "But you failed _me_ too. You promised a supermodel, not Ladybug's dirty alley cat." 

Gabriel smiled at her almost politely, but his mind was like a shovel, digging six feet by the end of her childlike tale. He'd keep the grave in the rearview. He needed her still. "It's disappointing for me too," Gabriel said, eyes viciously boring into Lila. "But I have one last task for you." 

She brushed her hand over her Miraculous, olive eyes narrowed. "Yes, Hawk Moth." 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

A few days of silence followed and then Hawk Moth came back. This time as Hawk Moth, not as Gabriel. 

His power was used to hurt his defenseless child but Adrien took it. There was no amount of pain or torture that would get him to utter Ladybug's identity. 

Adrien was lying in the cold corners. Hawk Moth stood between eye bending streams of painful light, blurred streaks of memory. 

Adrien laughed, spitting out blood through his teeth. "You're angry that I figured you out. You underestimated me. You never expected that I'd put the pieces together." 

"Says the child who spent two weeks talking to Volpina." 

"Says the father who sent her." Adrien shook his head, pushing his cheek hard against the ground. "Monster," he mouthed, closing his eyes, looking at his father for the last time with anything other than hatred. His compassion burned to the ground like his hopes and ambitions. 

"I hope you know that you are only alive because of Emilie. I would gladly trade your life to have her back." 

At one point a little black butterfly came and sat on his cheek, but it had no place to infect. Without strong emotions, with only numbness, the Akuma gave up and returned to its master. 

Hawk Moth left then, footsteps heavy all the way up to the mansion floors. 

'

* .

* '

* *

It felt like an ending to him. 

Dust settling in that one beam of light. Heartbeat slowing steadily. Bruises growing numb. Memory clearing into a straight, more vivid line of events. Will to live nonexistent. Fever burning at his eyes and skull. 

Maybe Ladybug would come for him. Maybe she wouldn't. But for the first time since he had been down in his hellhole, he didn't care. He didn't care if his body gave in. He didn't care if he fell asleep and never woke up. His mind wasn't a companion he wanted to live with anyway. 

A chill came through him like a winter breeze, electrifying his skin and leaving him a shuddering, static mess. He was just _so_ tired, he didn't know how to go anymore. He let himself crash, like a tipping tower, down and down, until he collided with the ground, harsh and heavy. And then, he was weightless. Absolutely nothing at all. Just a boat tossed aimlessly around the sea. 

He looked into that beam of light, through the crack of the door, watching the shadows dance. Watching the ground and the ceiling and the walls exist so much more significant than even himself. 

And in that beam, he spotted a shadow. 

A box. 

Wood painted dark brown. An octagon, with that ancient symbol, etched red onto the lid. Familiar and centuries-old, grand and simple, nostalgic in waves. 

The same box he had found sitting in his room the day that his life had changed. Changed for the better. 

He crawled forward, telling himself his eyes were fooling him, knowing it couldn't be the same box. It couldn't be his Miraculous. Underneath his finger, on paper, in fresh ink, was delicate calligraphy, just words. 

_I will always find you. Come find me._

_Yours,_

_Ladybug._


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry??!!

_What are you doing?_

He wiped blackness from his brow, watching flakes of dark ash scatter through his clenched fingers. The sun was hot on his back through the jagged cut in the ceiling. His body, in and out and through, was trembling with rage. 

His own voice, his own flimsy little conscious, was a taunting little flame burning away at his remaining strength, trying to hold him back. 

_What have you_ ** _done_ ** _?_

He muted his internal accusation, telling himself that what he had done made sense. That what he had done was good. It blotted out the beeping alarm of the jewel pushed to his finger. It blurred out the storm of imploding mansion walls slipping around him. He kept himself angry. He kept himself in his delusional state of blind, white-hot pain that made him violent. 

She stood there, shaking herself as if to wake from a bad dream. And her eyes were full of fear. Not directed at Gabriel. Not directed at the flames around them. Not directed at the sentimonster shrieking in the street.

But it was fear directed at him. 

Him, Chat Noir.

Him, Adrien Agreste. 

'

* .

* '

* *

**_Some time earlier_ **

It must have been the fever that had him so delusional. So absolutely gullible. So positively pathetic. Within his many hours of fever dreams and shaky breathes and suicidal daydreams. Within the heat of his chest and the shiver of his spine. He was pointlessly, periodically, creating another fantasy to keep himself alive. 

And this little note was just that. 

A fantasy. 

Penmanship all wrong. 

Ink too prim and practiced.

The red color was too bold and unsettling. 

He knew that. 

But yet...

He shivered, wishing for a blanket. An embrace. A warm hand to grip softly. Desperately longing for a thread he could pull on that would actually lead him away from the rigid mansion, to a place warm, and yellow, and light on his skin. 

His fingers were brushing against the face of the octagon, sensitive flesh burning at the coolness, a pulse within his fingertips at the familiarity of the wood. 

_Entertain the dream_ , he told himself. _What do you honestly have to lose?_

3 days had passed since Hawk Moth had spoken to him, and 3 days had he fallen under. Deep depression, deep sickness. Deep into the dirt of the mansion. Deep into himself. 

He unwrapped himself, peeling away from his corner haven, reaching shaky hands to pull at the lid. To carefully remove it and stare aimlessly, eyes wide at the silver ring. 

Over and over, a fool for hope. Over and over, roaming into every trap. Over and over and over, breaking his own heart with voluntary footsteps and hopeless gullibility. 

He was too tired to question the logic of the box sitting there, signed with Ladybug's name, yet without Ladybug, somehow in her possession, now somehow in his. An illusion, probably. Like Ladybug had been. Like Ladybug had been twice. With handwriting, not quite right. Volpina's tricks, with Hawk Moth's vile intent. But yet a thread. A thread he could pull on. 

He tore at the ring, sliding it onto his finger just as he had removed it, trembling as he stumbled, eyes lighting as the room lit green. 

How vivid could the illusions fabricate? 

How vivid could his own imagination stretch? 

Sudden and hoarse, the creature shot at him with fistful force. "Adrien!" He said, pounding against his holder's chest and making Adrien acutely aware of his own weakness, wincing, hands drawn back as footholds to keep his body weight from collapsing into itself. 

"An illusion," Adrien said softly, hollowly, lips in a mock laugh, fitful in breath. "You're just an illusion. This one doesn't even make sense." 

"Make sense?" Plagg said in drawn-out exasperation. "What doesn't make sense is _you_. You...you handed me over!" 

"I…" Adrien began, feeling absolutely monstrous under Plagg’s accusing eyes. His hands shook as he looked away. "I'm sorry, Plagg." 

Silence swallowed them for a while as Plagg watched him, eyes watery, black beams of darkness narrowed. And then he wavered, hollowly watching Adrien. Face flushed, gaze uneasy, frame skinny and unsteady. Then, a sigh, and he shot at him again, pushing his velvet face into the side of Adrien's neck. 

Adrien held the kwami, uncertainty bleeding in his eyes. Untrusting, as if at any moment, Plagg would turn and stab him in the back. But they made eye contact, nodding slow in understanding, neither with a good enough reason to trust the other. But still, they understood. 

"Kid, I'm not sure what's going on, but you need to cataclysm us out of here." 

Adrien stared for a few moments and his face twisted into a maddening, almost manic grin, and he burst into laughter. Fitful, angry laughter. Painful disbelief spilling from his lips. 

"Adrien, please, we can leave this place," came Plagg's rough, desperate voice. "I'd cataclysm that door myself, but I'm sure you'd prefer I don't destroy Paris." 

"Hilarious,” he said, his voice stubborn in tone. 

"I'm not an illusion. How do I make you believe me?" 

Adrien shrugged, shifting his eyes to look away from him. 

"Say the words,” came Plagg’s demand. 

"What?" 

"Say the words." 

Adrien sighed, closing his eyes, taking a breath. He shivered violently, fever heavy, horror throughout him. And then, with an almost sarcastic, mocking tone, he muttered the words, "claws out." 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

Plagg had been dormant for the better amount of Adrien's isolation. The only trace of outward light came in a vengeful evening of Gabriel's rage, with muted lips and violent demands. Destructive power had burnt a long pathway through the lawn of Parc Monceau, like a terrible warning that told the world that destruction was in the hands of someone without good intent. 

The Kwami's account was distractive, short, and sufficient enough to make Adrien sick with rage. But Plagg promised Gabriel's brief moments of ill-treatment were short-lasting and honestly far from a nightmare and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It made Adrien maddened at the tight-lipped history that Plagg was sure to keep hidden from his overly concerned holder. 

Plagg wasn't sure how he had arrived in Adrien's dungeon, but both holder and kwami were well aware that he couldn't have been delivered by Ladybug. She may be brilliant at constructing plans of enormous detail, but Adrien had always been quick enough to follow a bit behind. This one felt off in too many ways to count. 

He had detranformed at the realization of what had happened, talking quickly with Plagg and muttering a thousand little apologies as the kwami hastily pretended there had never been a strain between them. He almost didn't transform again, afraid to be alone, despite Plagg being fused with himself, feeding him strength, and providing him with power. 

But Plagg had insisted as Adrien doubled over, in a fit of painful, rib-bending coughing, and a spell of dizziness that almost brought him into a heap on the basement floor. 

He felt far less sick now, underneath the strength of Plagg's magical spell, burning and breaking in a numbing disguise beneath. It was like his body was being tied tight together by string, like a marionette doll, being willed forward by some unidentifiable source. 

He reached his claws forward to the door, releasing destructive power with a force much darker and deeply pulled, teeth gritted with pain and rage. "Cataclysm," he all but growled, stepping like a risen corpse through the cloud of black ash that once kept him captive. 

They recharged on crumbs of stale bread and then went on, back as one. There was a rush of wind to his movements that made his burning skin breathe for the first time in months. Chat Noir was the real skin of his body. 

He ignored the burning questions inside of him. The impending doom that flickered around in the obnoxious parts of his consciousness. He knew well that his father had left the ring. He knew that his father wanted him to be Chat Noir again. But why? What trap would he surely be stumbling into at the end of his trek? 

Much like the voices whispered in the haven of his cell, when he had stared at that familiar box, they asked, _what do you have to lose?_

So he marched on. 

'

* .

* '

* *

The secret levels of Agreste Mansion were seemingly endless. Each corner was designed to look like the last and it could make a man mad if he were to attempt to navigate its pathways. In its vast, stark length, it made Adrien marvel at such a well-hidden mystery, wondering when it had been built. It looked ancient in design, almost medieval, but with many modern alterations. On his mother's side, the house had existed for centuries. It made him wonder what his ancestors were like. What their values were. Were they monsters too? Did he come from a long line of monsters? 

The maze felt endless. He could feel the distance walked in his bones, sore and achy, but free. Free to move. Free to willfully walk into the trap set up for him. 

He eventually reached a door at the end of a lit hallway, lined with torch-like lamps and dusty, unsettling paintings. The door was as wide as the length of his old cell. 

That door led into another hall that led to another door, and then that door did the same. It was endless, maddening, and merciless. He wondered if the intent was to make him go mad all along. 

A steep, spiderweb of a staircase led him to an upper level, which to his utter disbelief, led to familiarity. But yet a distant, strange memory that made his eyes go misty. It was the sight of sunlight, streaming in through a sliver of an uncovered window, just a beam of summer boiling holes through his suit. He hadn't known it was summer. Time was no longer concrete in his memory. Seasons escaped him. It was like remembering all over again that he was a human being. He wanted to stand there for eternity with just the sun in his face. 

He was roaming the hallways he had seen before but was never allowed to wander. His father had never answered why, and now, with a sinking in his chest, he knew the answer. What kind of demons existed beneath the floorboards? What kind of questions did he fear Adrien may ask if he were to wander? 

He neared a hallway that made him weak with relief and dread, all at once, like a place of safety he had never learned to value. He had once walked it barefooted, to the back of the mansion, many times over, to the sitting area where Emilie had kept her books. 

Chat Noir passed that grand, sleek mirror at the end of the hallway. Ages old. In his family for a few centuries at least. He looked pale as a ghost. But yet, he was more deeply himself than he had been in months. 

He wanted to linger there but he turned away, letting his body carry him to the main floor. 

He should have stayed longer. 

He would never be ready to reach the main floor. 

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

It was a place of many memories. Some good. Some bad. Some...unspeakable. 

Once, the living room of Agreste Mansion was home to a young boy and his porcelain mother. Her nude colored pumps slid under a checkered chair. Strawberry lemonade in glasses. A wool, yellow blanket that wrapped around her son’s shoulders like a cape. She would comb through his hair, he would watch the television, or he would listen, as she told colorful, perhaps far fetched tales of her childhood. Softly, she would whisper of the Graham de Vanily’s, painting her venomous sister as a polished angel, and her own parents as ambitious, leaving out their deep affections for wealth and power. They had been a nice fairytale. A fairytale young Adrien played along with even with the deep-seated reality clear in his mind, of Amilie’s wickedness and Felix’s lies and his grandparents' vanity. But still, she told the stories, and Adrien pretended, sinking into that teal sofa, letting tight, possessive hands hold him together. 

Then a few years and the living room became a place where he would do his studies, and sit on his knees while sketching in the corner of his graph paper. His mother would bring him mint tea and delicate pastries. She would wear a navy suit and have her hair in a fancy bun. She would make sure he was safe, being stern with Nathalie, pass by him more than twice, and then turn on her way, slipping out the side door. His father would come next, most days, and remind him of his tasks, but he would slip a smile, nodding firmly, never hiding his approval. Adrien would beam.

One morning, the living room became the place where his father sat him down on that teal couch, sinking deeply, eyes narrowed away from his son. Hallowly blending in with the vases and the shiny decor. He was just as lifeless. He pushed a hand to Adrien’s shoulder, speaking to him without emotion. “Your mother is gone.” That is all that he said. All of Adrien’s questions were greeted with muted responses. Gabriel had taken two days in the house before disappearing in the dead of night and Nathalie had to explain to Adrien in that same living room that his father needed to go away for a while too. One month of silent company. Nathalie tried. He did his studies. He said nothing to nobody but the Gorilla once or twice. He never cried. He couldn’t cry in front of Nathalie. He soon learned when his father returned that he couldn’t cry in front of his father either, not without a scolding. 

And for a year, nobody entered the living room. It was a place for family and he had no family. 

And then the living room became the night of lies. The night of meaningless apologies. Faked compassion. His father, gone for good, he was somehow replaced by Hawk Moth. Convincing Adrien of his own insanity. Convincing Adrien that there was something deeply wrong with him. Promising help, delivering him to hell. Soft hands, so nice after so long. Soft hands, leading him into his own torment. A whirlwind of a night. An abuse so deep but he would never admit it. 

Each memory of the living room was worse than the last. But this one was the worst of all. 

There he had stood in his trek, feet planted at the doorway, hands outstretched, eyes trained on the figures in the living room. 

This is what he saw. 

Hawk Moth there, tall and powerful, eyes so clearly those of his father’s, eyes so victoriously placed on his son. He was a painted shadow, clasping his gloves around a figure in red, holding her by the neck, turning her limp and blue. Anticipation clear across his winning stare, trained on Chat Noir. 

Adrien couldn’t breathe. 

She was there. 

Right there. 

Ladybug. 

Neck placed in the devil’s hands. 

Cherry red. Midnight blue. Eyes dimmed with dread, begging for release. Lips a thin line of nothing. 

And he just stood there, power and body and mind suddenly useless. 

_Save me_ , her eyes pleaded. _I know you can._

She wouldn’t need to say more. 

He dug his feet in deep, bared his teeth, and let seething rage slide over him like a coat. It was thoughtless, venomous, and hardly precise. It was lunging, “cataclysm” shrieked from the lower depths of his throat, power like electricity sizzling, all forward, at him, at Hawk Moth, big and brash, with all his gut, and all of his might, and all of his speed, and yet… 

Yet, it was not enough. 

Not fast enough to stop Gabriel Agreste from putting forth his strength to the girl, crushing her throat, and letting her fall limp into the mass of herself. 

The cataclysm hit nothing but the floor that Adrien sank to, leaving the marble crumbling beneath him, ugly and flaming, licking away at his knees as he plummeted downward to meet her. He practically fell into her, wrapping his arms around her body, shaking her violently, shaking himself violently, saying “please” over and over and over. And then “no” many, many times until his voice grew hoarse. 

He never looked up. 

“I’m so sorry,” was the new one, as he rocked back and forth, face burning with pain, chest heavy with a flood he couldn’t prevent. 

He knew nothing. Cared for nothing. Felt nothing. Wanted nothing. Just nothing. 

Just hurt. 

The beeping of his ring could not be heard over the ringing of his ears, and he could not see his father’s movements. But his heart sank in incomplete realization when Ladybug’s cold body puffed away into smoke and he turned his face to see a fluttering, black painted creature, shoot toward him. 

He didn’t fight it. He couldn’t. He was too distraught. Too weak. It was painful, but the pain led to sweet addiction, and he couldn’t look away. 

“Such a fool,” Gabriel remarked with a shake of his head, also turning to dust, as black smoke covered Chat Noir’s body and the world turned into a tint of unsettling white. 

A sickening, yet alluring little voice inside of him spoke over his thoughts. He couldn’t remember who he was, but now he knew, with the certainty of the destructive power building in his fists, and the voice that told him so with vast affection, that his name was Chat Blanc. 

'

* .

* '

* *

They had been together when the sky turned black, with bodies pressed together, eyes wide in sudden terror. They all turned to face her, expectancy in their drained faces, questions in their worried frowns. 

Ladybug stilled, eyes bolting to Agreste Mansion, lip trembling as a cool breeze blew past her bare cheek. 

She didn’t speak a word. 

“It’s time,” Queen Bee spoke up, coming beside her. “Adrien needs us.” 

The team remained silent, as they followed Chloé’s lead, standing beside their leader with silent, yet certain, loyalty. Where her feet would walk, their own would also. If she were to fall, they would fall right with her. Her goal belonged also to them. 

Rena, linked arms on her right, and Bee took her left. Carapace, Ryuko, and Viperion were close. 

They knew what Chat meant. 

To her. 

To the city. 

To Chloé, and To Marinette, as a friend and as a person. 

If he was worth the Lady’s fight, then he was worth theirs. 

“We aren’t ready,” Ladybug said, taking a tentative step forward. “I don’t think we’ll ever be ready. But we have to be. We have to be prepared to take that risk. I’m sorry. I never should have asked any of you to take it. You all are, _we_ all are, just kids. We weren’t supposed to be superheroes. I don’t know why Master Fu let this happen. We don’t deserve this. Chat didn’t deserve this. So before we step into that storm, hear me out. If you value your life, don’t follow me. If you have goals, plans, dreams, someone you love...don’t follow me. If you believe that there is something out there that matters to you more than this city, more than Chat Noir, more than me...please, don’t follow me. Don’t give up your life.” 

Queen Bee’s grip tightened, and she whispered. “I have only ever had two true friends. Two people who believed I could be good. Believed I could be a hero. You and Adrien. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Rena’s grip tightened, her hands shaking, eyes passing over to Carapace. They looked at each other for a moment before nodding solemnly. “The people we care about live in this city,” Rena said. “And if we don’t save it, the people we love will be damned anyway.” 

Carapace nodded. “Wiser words were never spoken.” 

Ryuko was silent, but she didn’t move a muscle. 

Vipieron hesitated, mind flashing to a girl he knew well, with bluebell eyes and midnight pigtails, but he tightened his grip on the railing and simply nodded. 

They all chose to face the storm. 

Chloé with the Bee. 

_Queen Bee._

Kagami with the Dragon. 

_Ryoku._

Luka with the Snake. 

_Viperion._

Nino with the Turtle. 

_Carapace._

Alya with the Tiger. 

_Rena Roar._

But together, they were one force, bold and angry, moving forth under the black sky. 

Moving forth until their paths crossed with the fight of their lives. 

Moving forth until their victory was finally won. 

Though they knew well that victory was never a promise.

* '*

*

*

*

*

*

Summer was fading to winter. The chill passed over all of Paris. The chill emerged from the shaking hands of a boy, covered in white, possessed by the bleached, blue eyes of a cruel father. He felt the cold trickle out of him like a stab wound. 

When Chat Blanc had taken him, he had sunk to the marble floors of the mansion, willing himself to fight with fingers wrapped around his face as he pleaded with the dark magic to set him free. But in several labored breaths of “please, no,” he let the purple smoke cover his body and turn him into the monster of his heart. Turning him into the monster of his father’s design, groomed and turned and tampered. 

But there was something Gabriel Agreste had never counted on. 

His akumas were always loyal, reliant like an infant to the nutrients of its mother, like the hunger of a lion to its prey. Hawk Moth’s voice dripped in honey, wrapped in alluring dark magic and sincere promises that kept his victims feeding. He offered them power and they craved nothing more than that, in their dark desire, in their conflicting vulnerabilities. His quid pro quo was never argued. Hardly argued. He had never needed to push hard to put them in his line of thinking once he had control over their minds. 

He hadn’t counted on what would happen if someone were to be akumatized in a state, so violently, unabashedly, all consumingly, with hatred directed purposefully at the power giver. At the magician. At Hawk Moth. He had never counted on the dark magic of his victim to be stronger than the dark magic of himself. 

But Chat Blanc did not speak to him when he uttered his words of honey-dripping promise. 

_Chat Blanc. It must get tiring always being taken advantage of. Always being fooled by your own father and his cruel illusions. It isn’t fair that you never get a chance to have the upper hand. I’ll grant you the power of unlimited destruction, so that you may overpower him, as long as in return, you bring me Ladybug’s Miraculous…_

“No.” Chat Blanc just whispered, opening his hand with building white energy, lifting it to the sky, and narrowing silvery eyes ahead. At the voice in his head, he laughed. “I don’t answer to you, Hawk Moth.” 

From both hands, his power grew wide as the room around him, and he grinned with fervor as the white cataclysm wrapped around the structure of the mansion, of the walls and the floors and the furniture. It snaked its way around the priceless, precious belongings. The heirlooms. The paintings. The things that Adrien once loved. The things that Adrien always hated. It blew wide, just touching, and then with a deep breath, it sliced through all of it, imploding gently and then loudly, shattering the windows and cracking the walls. Lighting the wood on fire and turning the high ceiling to falling, snow-like, ash. 

The walls around him disappeared, blowing into the cold wind, disappearing under the now-black sky. 

And like that, Gabriel was thrown back, torn from the connection and trembling on the floor of his lair. Rage building in his bones. Blood boiling in his heart. He rose to his feet, watching the room crack around him. Stained glass shattering. Zigzags of violent rage eating away at the floor. 

He called to Nathalie, pulling himself through the open door, dragging himself to the lift. 

He knew his enemies were coming for him. He knew he would need something big. 

'

* .

* '

* *

Nathalie had called for Volpina, demanding she wait in the lawn for Gabriel, promising that he had one final task for her. 

She didn’t see him approach in the swarm of black smoke. 

She didn’t see much besides the imploding, melting mansion, disappearing to nothing before her eyes. 

“I thank you for your service, ever loyal, Volpina,” Gabriel said, brushing white ash from the shoulder of his long coat. The specks decorated the grass like an angry blizzard, leaving Gabriel red-faced and Volpina trembling in her caramel coat. 

Her fingers found the Fox Pendant, holding it possessively to her chest. She felt threatened. The way he spoke had finality. The way he moved toward her had a purpose. “I am always honored to have the opportunity,” she said, painting on a polite smile, tightening her grip on the pendant. “And I wish to continue. I will be your servant, always, Hawk Moth.” 

Gabriel didn’t smile at her offer. He simply pursed his lips, looking up to the imploding mansion. “I think your story has come to a close.” 

“No!” she hissed, stepping backward. “You’re wrong. I still have much to offer. I still can help you achieve your goal, I’ll do anything!” 

“You know too much,” he said solemnly. 

“And I will never tell a soul.” 

He nodded, reaching a hand into his coat, narrowing his eyes away from her. And she missed it, the flicker of the light reflecting off the blade, the sudden movement of Gabriel’s arm in the blur of ash. She missed it until she felt it break through her center, causing her to crumble as scarlet spilled from her abdomen.

She fell to her knees, eyes full of terror as she sank forward. 

“I am not a fool,” he said simply. “God knows you’re the last one a man should trust.” 

And God knows those were the last words she ever did hear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't want to take time out of the story to explain it, but I did want to make it clear that the fox miraculous is in Gabriel's possession. Hence, why Alya is currently the holder of the tiger. Rena Roar!? Ahaha I don't know what I'm doing.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading. 3 chapters left, and possibly 4 if I decide to break it up a bit more. A lot happens in the next few chapters. It's going to be a bit wild.  
> For those worried about a happy ending... lol, good luck. I promise Adrien will be okay. Might have to make a sequel. We'll see.


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